


the key is not getting caught

by haleofStilesheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Eavesdropping, Assumptions, Eavesdropping, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining Derek, Pining Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek overhears Stiles talking to Scott about his crush on a certain brooding werewolf.<br/>He misunderstands and thinks they're talking about Boyd</p>
<p>
  <em>Derek realized it must be Boyd - there were no other pack members who even remotely fit Stiles’ description of reticence. A traitorous, jealous little voice in his head whispered that Derek could fill the position of Stiles’ taciturn lover instead. <em></em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the key is not getting caught

Derek hadn't meant to eavesdrop, he really hadn't, but with his werewolf hearing it was practically impossible not to.

He had just finished yet another load of laundry - it was incredible just how many dirty clothes three teenaged betas could accumulate in the span of just one weekend, his sympathies going out to single parents everywhere, additionally reminding him to invite Melissa over for dinner sometime soon - and was heading to the kitchen to get a start on making a late lunch.

Stiles’ thoroughly exasperated groan of pure, utter defeat immediately caught his attention, the following heavy thud freezing him in his tracks by the doorway of the living room, stack of neatly folded deep red tea towels in his hand. 

Cautious and concerned, Derek poked his nose into the room, careful to remain out of sight, his eyes following quickly after to find Scott sitting in one of the new recliners, hunched forward to rest his elbows on his knees; Stiles was lounging on the couch, sprawled out dramatically across the bottom cushions on his back, pouting his plump pink lips. 

Derek quirked an intrigued eyebrow, settling his left hip against the door jamb, extremely curious about the source of Stiles’ glaringly obvious vexation, the scent of grief and anger heavily saturating the air around him.

He looked absolutely miserable, his brows furrowed, forehead wrinkled, eyes devoid of their usual fiery effulgence as he gazed blankly at the yet-to-be-restored ceiling, absently staring at a scorched crack in the crown molding. His gray t-shirt was stained and rumpled under his red hoodie, his faded jeans creased, hair massively disheveled. Though thankfully there were no bags beneath his eyes, signifying the vast improvement of his erratic sleep patterns. 

“Aww, c'mon man! This is a good thing!” Scott excitedly proclaimed, flashing his bright teeth in a brilliant smile. Stiles loud, petulant whine in response revealed just what he thought about Scott's sentiment.

Derek's interest was significantly piqued, making him somewhat desperate to know what exactly would make Scott ecstatic and Stiles so completely despondent. His best guess was something pertaining to the state of Scott and Allison's unendurably turbulent relationship drama. He racked his brain, trying to remember if they were together at the moment or currently broken up for whatever inane reason this time. It was difficult keeping track.

Fortunately, he need not wait very long for his silent question to be answered as immediately after his own announcement, Scott exclaimed, “You like someone!” 

Derek was rather taken aback, his left eyebrow raising to join his right at his hairline, as he watched Stiles instantaneously straighten up on the couch, quick enough that Derek was certain he himself had gotten whiplash just from witnessing the motion. Glaring fiery daggers at Scott, Stiles obstinately folded his arms over his chest.

When glaring proved to be an ineffective method of thoroughly relaying his thoughts on the matter, Stiles huffed and launched into an impassioned rebuttal, “No! This is not a good thing, Scott! He can barely tolerate me on a good day! Let alone say a single god-damn fucking word to me! And we're in the same fucking pack for God's sake!” 

Derek blinked rapidly, his mind racing, head spinning at a phenomenal rate as he attempted to comprehend what Stiles had just said.  _ He? He what… _ ? 

Stiles’ bisexuality was not a particularly new or shocking concept to Derek - nor anyone even relatively close to the hyperactive teenager - Stiles having rather inelegantly blurted it out at a pack meeting several months prior, interrupting Derek's explanation of territory markers and inadvertently coming out to everyone in the general vicinity. 

Stiles had flushed red immediately after the words left his mouth, obviously not intending to reveal his sexuality in such a way. Derek had simply rolled his eyes at Stiles’ poor timing and returned to explaining the differences between various scent markers; though he noticed the enthused fist bump Scott had given him along with a tight hug and beaming grin, and he most certainly hadn't missed the lascivious way Peter had leered at the boy, obviously pleased with the new information. 

Quite obviously, the object of Stiles’ apparently secret crush was not Lydia. Stiles had casually admitted that his juvenile infatuation with her was just that, childish idolatry and idle boyhood obsession, and had waned over the summer between sophomore and junior year until it dissipated completely into nothingness save for an old, somewhat amusing and embarrassing memory.

Derek realized it must be Boyd - there were no other pack members who even remotely fit Stiles’ description of reticence. He considered that Stiles could effortlessly talk enough for the both of them should they ever engage in a relationship; a traitorous, jealous little voice in his head howling that Stiles could just as easily talk enough for _ him _ instead, vindictively flaunting the fact Boyd was already in a committed relationship with Erica. Said voice whispered that Derek could fill the position of Stiles’ taciturn lover. 

However, his more rational mind acknowledged that Erica would be much more likely to invite Stiles into their bed for a threesome rather than turn him away. A thick, bubbling coil of acidic jealousy churned within his gut at the very thought. The voice growled that Erica already had Boyd, she didn't need Stiles too. 

“Dude, don't worry about it! He'll come around! Besides, it's not like me and Allison's relationship is perfect, either,” Scott attempted to placate when Stiles continued to peevishly glower at him, not yielding in the slightest, the remark drawing Derek's attention away from his virulent thoughts. 

Derek narrowed his eyes in the hallway because  _ yes. Yes, it is.  _ Scott and Allison were engaged in the ideal teenage relationship, complete with being officially named Beacon Hills High's cutest couple in the yearbook and elected homecoming king and queen, much to Jackson and Lydia's petty disdain. And while there were no occasional arguments and ensuing fights, punctuated by intermittent breakups, they never failed to patch things up and get back together within two or three days time. Everyone knew how wonderful their relationship was.

And Stiles was not one to be cajoled into complacency.

Fully prepared to set his best friend straight, Stiles frowned deeply and promptly called him on his bullshit, helpfully clarifying, “Uh, yeah. It kinda is, dude. And when you guys _ do _ break up you literally kiss and make up the next day! And you're all happy and disgustingly cute again!” 

Exhaling heavily through his nose, Stiles collapsed defeatedly against the back cushions of the couch with a loud thump. He scrubbed a rough hand over his eyes, scrunching his nose in frustration. Scott winced, scratching the back of his head, thoroughly chastised and looking eerily similar to a kicked puppy. The resemblance was truly uncanny. 

Derek ached for Stiles, seeing how guilty and upset he was, wanting nothing more than to wrap him securely in his arms and shield him from the world, from everything possibly distressing whether it be his frequent nightmares or having to endure other couples parading their blissful relationships in front of him. 

Derek wasn't blind, he had seen the way Stiles looked at Allison and Scott, Lydia and Jackson, and Erica and Boyd with longing in his eyes. He had seen the way Stiles gazed enviously at Scott and Allison's joined hands, the way Boyd tucked Erica's hair behind her ear. Though perhaps it wasn't him lamenting his single status, perhaps it was just because everyday he was faced with what he couldn't have.

Derek knew the feeling all too well.

After several moments of tense silence, during which Derek briefly contemplated fleeing to the kitchen and valiantly attempting to forget about everything he had overheard and will away the dull throb in his chest, Stiles sighed deeply and divulged, “Look, it's not like I love him, y'know? It's just...I think I  _ could _ .” 

Scott offered a radiant, encouraging smile, nodding vigorously. Derek felt as though he'd been punched in the solar plexus, yet found himself smiling tentatively despite the vicious pang in his chest. Overwhelming affection burgeoning inside him, ultimately desiring the very best for Stiles, regardless of any heartache for himself. 

He was used to that feeling too.

Tossing his head back, revealing the tantalizing line of his pale throat, Stiles breathily exhaled, suddenly looking utterly exhausted after his confession. Heaving another sigh and aimlessly waving his hands around to emphasize his next statement, “It's just… He's so amazing! And he's been through so much! And he-he just deserves the freaking moon, man!” 

Again, Derek felt a bud of endearment bloom within him, fierce protectiveness surging through his veins. He was well aware of the hardships Boyd had endured, from his sister's disappearance to eating lunch alone every day, to hear someone genuinely concerned about him gave him some semblance of peace of mind. 

He had never believed in the bite being a gift as strongly as he had when his betas had begun displaying their newfound confidence. He imagined it was how proud fathers felt. He'd be sure to ask Sheriff Stilinski.

“Ugh! I just wanna give him nice things!” Stiles groaned, now sitting up and gesticulating wildly. Derek's smile began morphing into something softer, something fond, until Stiles finished his claim, “Like ice cream and blow jobs!” 

Derek nearly choked, eyes widening as his cheeks flushed with a burst of heat, unbidden images of Stiles on his knees flashing behind his eyelids, fantasizing about Stiles teasingly chewing on his bottom lip and gazing up at Derek - not Boyd - beneath his eyelashes, hands reaching for Derek's belt buckle. 

He managed to bite his own lip, managing to contain the tiny groan that threatened to spill out of his mouth as he pictured Stiles spread out naked in Derek's new sheets, pallid skin in stark contrast to the burgundy silk, pointedly ignoring the blood in his mouth. 

Meanwhile, Scott physically cringed, actually sticking his tongue out in somewhat mocking disgust, obviously picturing much of what Derek had yet taking exponentially less pleasure than him. Noticing his friend's extreme reaction, Stiles rolled his eyes and impatiently snapped, “Oh, please! You've described, in detail, the sound Allison makes when she comes. I don't wanna hear any bitching from you, mister!” 

“Ugh, dude! When you two get together don't tell me anything about you guys’ sex life, okay?” Scott pleaded, suddenly looking genuinely contrite, clasping both hands in front of him in silent prayer. “I really don't need to think about him like that.” 

After getting over his own revulsion concerning any thoughts whatsoever of Scott and Allison's in bed, grimacing at Scott's disturbing tendency to overshare, Derek smirked, always amused by Stiles’ wit and having finally managed to shake all thoughts of Stiles naked and writhing from his mind.

Well, almost all. He was a red-blooded twenty five year old bisexual werewolf, after all.

Stiles snorted as though the mere concept of Scott's suggestion that he and the object of his clandestine affections would ever actually be together was preposterous, laughing weakly. Derek watched Stiles dismissively flop his hand around, brushing off the comment. In a painfully self-deprecating manner, Stiles promised, “Yeah, sure buddy. In whatever alternate universe we get together in, I'll be sure to keep it to myself.”

Both Scott and Derek furrowed their brows at his cavalier dismissal. Stiles looked deflated, curling in on himself almost imperceptibly, curving his broad shoulders forward the slightest bit, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Scott gingerly reached out to him yet refrained from actually touching him, hand hovering a few inches above his knee, daring to offer moral support and good-natured advice. He urged him, “Dude, just talk to him.”

“I can't, Scott! You know I can't! It'd ruin everything!” Stiles cried desperately, looking almost as if he were close to tears, the scent of salt clinging to his skin. He tightened his arms around his middle and hunched his shoulders forward, caving in on himself further. Softly, dejectedly, he mumbled, “He'd hate me.”

A stab of excruciating misery struck Derek directly in the heart, this time stifling a pitiful whine. He watched helplessly as Stiles needlessly tortured himself, unable to do anything to quell the younger boy’s anguish. All he wanted to do was rush to his side and envelop him in an endless embrace, swaddle him in a cocoon of warm blankets, and ply him with tender kisses and sweet words of assurance. 

But he couldn’t. 

“What the hell would I even say?!” Stiles demanded, perking up significantly in his ire and gesturing wildly around the room, cheeks becoming red and blotchy. “Huh?!”

Scott smiled lopsidedly, unaffected by Stiles’ short-lived outburst, and calmly suggested, “Just ask him out.”

“Just ask him out? Just ask him out?! Scott, are you crazy?! He’d kill me!” Stiles barked, dubious and frantic. With a cynical wisp of a smirk, he shoved a hand through his hair, tousling it even more. 

“‘Hey, Derek! Wanna go out sometime?’” Stiles quickly lowered his voice to a gruff rasp, hunching his shoulders and scrunching his face into a parody of a snarl, jutting his bottom jaw forward to purposely lisp, “‘Shut up, Stiles. Or I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.’”

Wiping a line of drool from his chin with the back of his hand. Stiles seamlessly reverted to his usual tone, scoffing, “Yeah, that’ll work out great. Brilliant idea, Scotty.” 

Shocked beyond words, human or otherwise, Derek jolted as though physically electrocuted. His knee knocked into a side table by the doorway as he jerked, the jumbled assortment of glass jars and books and other random household objects atop it jostling and rattling noisily, the crack of his bone against the mahogany echoing through the quiet house. Growing rather frantic, he valiantly attempted to cease the shaking of the table, placing a steadying hand on the edge to settle it, almost dropping the stack of tea towels in the process. 

The second his knee struck the unyielding, unforgiving wood, he heard Stiles clamber to his feet, a sudden spritz of anger and dread tinging his scent. Desperate not to be discovered - and live up to Stiles’ claim of him actually being a stalker - Derek hastily ducked behind a cabinet, hoping it would obscure him from Stiles’ view, spare him from the perceptive roving of his analytic eyes. 

Stiles poked his head out of the living room, Scott following on his heels. He glanced left and right down the hallway, eyebrows raised suspiciously. Beside him, Scott lifted his head to curiously scent the air, clearly searching for a hint as to what caused the raucous. Latching onto the most recent scent and following its trail, just as Derek had painstakingly taught him, he tilted his head just enough to catch sight of Derek plastering himself back against the wall, hiding behind the side of the cabinet, looking extremely panicked. 

Scott raised an inquiring brow, looking Derek up and down as though searching for any cause of distress. After a few moments of the two werewolves intensely staring at one another, realization dawned on Scott’s face, abruptly grasping that Derek must have overheard their conversation, his jaw actually dropping. 

He glanced back at Stiles who was craning his neck to peer down the bend of the opposite side of the hallway, completely oblivious to Derek's presence. Not for the first time, he was extremely grateful Stiles wasn't a werewolf. He was perceptive enough as is. 

Derek swallowed heavily, shaking his head furiously when Scott turned back around looking vaguely amused, shaking his head furiously when Scott turned back around, silently pleading for Scott's own silence and assistance. 

Luckily, Scott only smiled to himself, ducking his head to hide it from Stiles’ view. After quickly wiping the grin off his face, he turned back to Stiles and very innocently claimed, “I think it was just a squirrel or something.”

“Yeah, or something,” Stiles muttered under his breath. Despite his conspicuous skepticism, eyes narrowing, Stiles spun on his heel and stalked back into the living room, casting a lingering gander at the hallway, thankfully not noticing Derek behind the cabinet.

Once Scott and Stiles were in the living room, Scott pausing for a second to send Derek an enthusiastic thumbs-up and a broad, earnest grin before strolling back into the room, Derek allowed himself to breathe freely. He waited, with bated breath, until he heard the groan of the metal couch springs before finally fleeing to the kitchen. 

He barreled into the room, shouldering the door open, unceremoniously tossing the tea towels onto the dark granite countertop, disregarding his neat folding.

Blood pounded in his ears along with a single word, routinely repeated over and over again, like an incredulous mantra, growing in urgency each time it sounded.  _ Me? Me? Me?! Me?! Me! _

Unusually winded, panting more than he would after a run through the preserve, he rested his forehead against the cool silver sheen of the refrigerator, hand clutching the stainless steel door handle in a death grip.

Of all the unbelievably ridiculous things that his daily life consisted of, the idea of Stiles genuinely being interested in him beyond mere tentative friendship was the most implausible, the most far-fetched. Gorgeous, brilliant, dauntless Stiles liked _him?_ _Him -_ broken, damaged, burned out husk of a man Derek? 

It was difficult to grasp.

And yet the knowledge that he  _ did _ elated something buried deep within him, sparked some fire inside him the flames of which he never dared let himself stoke. He realized belatedly it was hope now blazing in his chest.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, something good could actually happen.

While as unbelievable as the notion was, now Stiles’ earlier words made sense; Derek was quiet and brooding, rarely if ever saying more than necessary in any given situation though he was fully capable of saying more than one word to Stiles. And he had demonstrated his ability to do so on multiple occasions, his words oftentimes peppered with half-hearted threats and demands for Stiles to shut up. Stiles’ imitation of Derek had gotten that right, at least.

But he most certainly didn't hate him. 

Hearing the front door slam shut, the shuffle of sneakers and shrill click of high heels heralding the other betas’ triumphant return with enough pizza and chicken wings to feed a small army, and Erica's gleeful announcement of pack movie night, Derek couldn't help but think, with a shaky sigh and an exhausted smile,  _ It's gonna be a long day. _

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more to this if I get an idea on how to continue it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
